


Late

by indoorbird



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, Canon Divergence, Greyjoy Rebellion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-27
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 17:02:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23880511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/indoorbird/pseuds/indoorbird
Summary: Lyanna's boy has made a name for himself.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Lyanna Stark
Comments: 3
Kudos: 58





	Late

Lyanna’s boy had made a name for himself.

After the Greyjoys burned Lannisport, the king bestirred himself to send aid to the Lannister and Stark forces. Rhaegar himself was not the fighter he once was, and his heir never let swords replace books as his father had. So the troops were led by Ser Arthur Dayne and Prince Jon. He is six and ten and has never been north of King’s Landing.

Lyanna takes her children back to Winterfell to help Catelyn manage and to hear news quicker. This news almost always features her boy. Ned told her the simple facts in his letters, but her husband Wendel’s had a bit more detail. In her replies, she didn’t ask for more nor discourage the amount she learned. Some would expect her to be ravenous for information, but Lyanna had been living with this ache for a long time. Most days she tried not to think of him at all. It was the only way to bear it. Even if she did allow him back into her head, it was far too late for him to ever be hers again.

But even as she tried to remain neutral to protect her heart, talk of her firstborn kept pouring in. At first, there was skepticism of a green boy sent to lead grown men, of a boy trying on his father’s armor. Then tones changed. Robb called him friend. Ned said he was gaining respect from the elder lords in the strategy meetings. More dramatic stories followed as the war winded down, and men came home. The prince slew twelve Greyjoy men. He can fight with two swords at once. He rides first in the vanguard. He’s better than Ser Arthur Dayne and Jaime Lannister and his father. He’s the Young Dragon reborn. He’s Brandon reborn.

She had wanted to name him Brandon, but she wasn’t sure if her brother would feel honored or disgusted by her Targaryen boy bearing his name. Now she wishes he had. If her son had his look and spirit and wore his name, it could be their vengeance.

The war ends. Jon will go home and likely never be this close to her again. Balon’s eldest children are all slain in battle, his youngest have surrendered, and he is headed for the block. Jon elected to execute the rebel himself in the old way, in his father’s name. She doesn’t know what to make of this, but she can sense Ned’s approval in this report. _He’s not like them, he’s good and honorable and has the North in him,_ he is saying.

And then Ned does something surprising. He announces a feast to celebrate their victory, and every lord who fought with them is invited. Ned is not the type to dwell on victories or throw big celebrations. Prince Jon agrees to come, and Lyanna senses this may be a kindness just for her.

She cannot mistake which one is him. When he rides in with Robb at one side and Ser Arthur close behind, the whole yard bends the knee. She lets herself be hungry for just a moment as she steals one long look. He looks like the man she expected him to grow to be and nothing like him at all. He does have that Stark look, but he also looks like his father in ways only she might see. He has his build, that way he holds his chin up. He has the look of a prince, dressed in his fine black armor and wearing a silver circlet in his hair, possessed of the knowledge that he has a distinguished place in this world.

After courtesies have been done, Lyanna greets her husband and thanks him for not dying. He laughs and part of her is looking forward to returning to their simple, smiling life together.

But she is still looking for glimpses of him. He is dismounted and does not look like he quite knows what do with himself during these reunions. It is just him and Ser Arthur standing awkwardly among all the reuniting Northerners. He could easily command attention back, but he doesn’t. She wonders how many times he’s made himself scarce.

Lyanna begins to go to him but then Robb has escaped his mother’s kisses and leads the prince towards the castle himself, with a brotherly hand on Jon’s shoulder. Lyanna takes a step back.

Until the feast, she worries in ways she never has before. She always felt like Jon was taken from her, but he might not see it that way. He may blame her, resent her, think she left him by choice. Perhaps he has no interest at all in the parent who gave him nothing but grief. Maybe Rhaegar was a good father after all and Jon had needed absolutely nothing of her. When she let herself think of him, she thought of a lonely boy with her face growing up in the wrong castle. But happily or not, that boy was now a man who needed a mother no longer.

“You do not have to go, Lya,” Wendel told her gently.

“Nonsense,” she said, “My brother and husband are home safe. I should share their joy.”

“People will be watching you,” he said, “I know you hate that.”

“It would be worse not to go,” she said, “I want to see him. As hard as it is.”

“He’s a good lad,” he said, “You should be proud.”

“How can I?” she said, indulging in a moment of self-pity, “I had nothing to do with it.”

She goes and sits with her family, just below the dais. Her children, Ben and Lyra, shower their father with attention. Ned welcomes everyone and has them all raise a glass to Prince Jon which he sheepishly accepts. This is probably the first time he’s been the most royal person in the castle. She loves her home so much for loving her son that it brings a tear to her eye.

She eats her dinner and dances with her husband and sneaks looks at Jon all night. He talks with Ned. He laughs at something Robb says. He listens to Lord Umber attentively. He picks at his food. He sips at his wine. He exists and acts and moves through the world, and she can finally be witness to it.

She returns to her seat and sees her children have gone missing. She quickly spots Ben in his usual spot beside Bran. But Lyra is not with her cousins Manderly or Stark or any of the other children her age. She spots her the moment everyone else seems to. Lyra is talking to Jon.

He is listening attentively to her, and Lyanna can tell she’s asking a hundred questions a breath in her usual manner. Jon nods and smiles and is as kind as a man can be to a girl of four. Then she grabs his hand and by all appearances it seems that she is asking him for a dance. She leads the prince to the floor and makes a gesture Lyanna knows well. Jon obligingly picks her up and hesitantly spins her around before he accepts that he will not drop her. Then they are dancing arm in arm to the tune of the Northern song and Lyra’s laughter. Robb joins in with Arya and Wylla takes Ben and even Sansa has corralled Rickon. They dance gracelessly and the floor belongs to the young and guiltless.

At the end, Jon returns a beaming Lyra to their table. Lyanna has not been this close to him since Rhaegar told her to give him up.

“Would you like to dance?” he asks her in a quick tumble of a question. She beams and nods. Neither of them are very good dancers, but she feels light as a feather as she spins around him. She’s glad she’s had enough wine so she only feels joy and not nerves. Up close, he is so handsome, and he examines her as closely as she does him.

A dance turns into a walk. Lyanna’s son is quiet and thoughtful and self-possessed. He is a man, too old to be rooted to a mother, outgrown of a behavior he never had.

 _It’s too late for him to need her, but it’s not too late for him to know her_ , she thinks with a radical hope.

She points at the sword on his hip, “I hear you’re very good with that.”

He shrugs sheepishly.

“I wanted you be to a warrior,” she said softly, “Your father wanted a girl, but I hoped for a boy and a warrior. I thought it might make life a little easier.”

“It likely has,” he said.

“I hear they’re good to you,” she said, “Your Targaryen family.”

“They are,” he said, and then he gets a little braver, “Is that why you didn’t write?”

She looked down in shame, “I wasn’t sure if it was my place at first. Then I tried and I just couldn’t find the words. Anything I put on paper just felt so little.”

“It wouldn’t have felt little to me,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“Are you happy?” he said.

“Yes,” she said, “Happy enough. I could never be very happy without you.”

“I’m sorry about that,” he said.

“You have nothing to be sorry for,” she said.

“I stayed away too,” he said, “I could have come North earlier. I had opportunities, but I was afraid to face it.”

“Do you like it here? It’s your home too,” she said.

He nodded, “I feared they would hate me for the war, for growing up in the South, for how long the king waited to send troops. I felt an embarrassing need to be liked I thought I had gotten over long ago. I may have overcompensated a bit on the battlefield.”

She laughed, “I did hear talk of two swords at once.”

“Well, that was an accident,” he said, and she laughed.

“You could stay here,” she said hopefully, “Spend some time at Winterfell or White Harbor. We could go riding, spend time with your cousins and my children, see some snow fall.”

“That would be nice,” he said, “But I have to go home eventually.”

“Of course,” she said, “It was just…a dream.”

“I do not know how many years my Father has left,” Jon said quietly, suddenly.

Her first instinct is jealousy. Rhaegar got all the years with Jon already. Who cares if he misses the rest? But Jon cares, of course. Lyanna can’t imagine a life without Rhaegar Targaryen looming over her from a thousand leagues away. She’s not sure what else to say so she says, “He is young still.”

“He was injured at the Trident,” Jon reminds her, , “He never fully recovered. Not many people know. If Aegon becomes king soon, he’s going to need help. He says he’s going to need me.” She can tell this impending duty has been weighing on him.

“He’ll be lucky to have you,” she said to this son she hardly knows, “If you’re anything like Ned- and I think you are- you’ll be able to do what needs to be done.”

The comparison to Ned seemed to make him proud, and he smiled nervously, “I was reckless during the rebellion. I wanted to throw myself into the thick of it to test myself, I suppose. Gods, I was acting like it was a tourney I needed to win. I don’t even like tourneys.”

“But you did do well,” she said.

“Yes, but,” he said, “It wasn’t enough. I’m not ready yet.” He had become so vulnerable with her so quickly. A sword pierced her heart as she realized how he had needed his mother. She tried to rise to the occasion.

“No one is ever ready for the moment they have to do their duty,” she said, trying to sound as if her mistakes had made her wiser, “Aversion to the prospect is what united your father and me.”

Jon looked at her blankly.

“Too soon to joke about it?” she said, and he gave her a real smile. She barely knew him, and she knew that was a hard-won victory.

“Thank you,” he said, “For talking to me.”

“Thank you for wanting to talk to me,” she said, “I know it’s late.”

“Yes,” he says, “But it’s not too late.”


End file.
